Just An Average Night At Willie's
by Caz Dowse
Summary: This is what happens on a normal night in South Park at Whistlin' Willies - there are multiple pairings, including KennyxWendy, KylexBebe, and PipxDamien, amongst others...Kenny's POV - final chapter up!
1. Chapter 1

**Just An Average Night At Willie's**

**First up, a quick apology to anyone who story alerted my recent fic Life – I've decided to abandon it, mainly because I've had a crappy time recently and I haven't had time to write it, and I seem to have hit a brick wall with it. Maybe it'll come back in the future in some form. Once again, sorry!**

**I came up with the idea for this fic while at work (shows you how interesting my job is…), and I just had to write it. I promise I will finish this one! Anyway, enough ramblings, on with the story!**

**Chapter 1**

**Kenny's POV**

Weird stuff happens in South Park a lot, I'll admit that. Hell, I'm one of the weirdest things round here. We get coach-loads of Japanese tourists travelling through the town on their way to Denver, and they always stop outside my house, amongst other places, to gawp. You see, I'm the kid who dies. I'm pretty convinced that'll be my epitaph (if I ever have one) – the kid who dies.

On the odd occasion when nothing weird is happening, we all hang out at Whistlin' Willie's pizza place. At 17, we're too young for the bar and Shakey's has really gone downhill since it got taken over, so this is the only place to hang out, unless you wanna freeze your nuts off at Stark's Pond with the sixth graders. Willie's is gayer than Big Gay Al's sanctuary for gay animals, but you gotta take what you can get. I learned that from my parents.

I'm on my way to Willie's right now with my 'date' for the night, Wendy Testaburger. I say 'date' because this'll be her first time going out with a guy who isn't Stan Marsh, and already, sitting with her in my dad's pickup, I can tell her heart's not in it. She's sitting quietly, hands clasped in her lap, staring out of the side window. She looks like she's going to a funeral rather than on a date.

We arrive at Willie's and I search for somewhere to park, which is made all the more difficult by the sheer lack of space, and the fact that people just park anywhere. I find a small space just across the road from Willie's, and manage to squeeze the pickup into it. We have a fender bender with an old Buick parked in front that I think belongs to Clyde Donovan, but whatever. People should learn to carpool.

I can't help but admire Wendy as we walk in. She's wearing wet look leggings, which perfectly emphasise her long legs, and a blue minidress. Her long black hair is wavy rather than the usual poker straight. She looks _amazing_. It definitely makes up for her lack of enthusiasm.

We find a booth and sit down. Willie's is busy, which is fairly normal for a Friday night. All the usual crowd are in – Kyle Broflovski and Bebe Stephens are sharing a corner booth and making out as though their lives depended on it, Pip Pirrup and his boyfriend, Damien (the Antichrist) are sitting at one of the tables in the middle feeding each other pizza, Craig Tucker is irritating a group of girls sat in another booth, Clyde and Annie are at another table (from the looks of things, their date is going about as well as mine), and lastly Butters Stotch, Tweek, Jimmy, Timmy, and, rather surprisingly, Token Black are all sat round a large table towards the back, otherwise known as the Dateless Table (okay, I'll admit, I've sat there myself a couple of times). The only notable absence is Eric Cartman, who got a 2 week ban a few nights back for trying to steal money from the pinball machine. He's probably at Stark's Pond, trying to score pot off the sixth graders.

"What would you like?" I ask Wendy, signalling Willie, who's busy serving the Dateless Table. We don't need to look at the menu; we know it off by heart.

"I don't mind. You choose," she replies, smiling unconvincingly.

All righty, then. It may not be a barrel of laughs so far, but at least this date can't get any worse. Just as I think that, in walks Wendy's ex Stan, with his arm around Red. Oh, thank you, Jesus. Not. Wendy's reaction says it all. Her eyes fill with tears as she watches them go over to say hi to Kyle and Bebe, who've briefly come up for air.

"You okay?" I ask.

As I say that, Red looks over this way, spots us and says something to Stan. She giggles and nudges him in the ribs. Stan looks at us, but his expression is unreadable. He smiles at Red as she grabs his hand and leads him to the pinball machine. I glance at Wendy and then wish I hadn't. She blinks rapidly a few times and turns towards the window, staring out at the snow rather than her ex-boyfriend. God, I hate Stan right now.

I look away before I glare a hole in his back, and find myself looking at Kyle and Bebe, who're eating pizza now, instead of each other. Bebe has had a thing about Kyle since elementary school and has wanted to date him for ages. Finally, a couple of weeks ago, Kyle caved in and asked her out. I can't help feeling a little sorry for him though – he really doesn't know what he's letting himself in for. Bebe Stephens is one crazy bitch. I should know, I dated her for a while. Right now, she's got that naughty look on her face that I know so well. She 'accidentally' knocks a fork off the table and disappears under it to retrieve it. About 30 seconds later, Kyle jumps violently.

"Bebe, what the hell are you…oh Jesus Christ." He grips the table, hard.

"Slut." There's almost resentment in Wendy's tone as she says it. We can't help but stare at Bebe, whose blonde head is just visible between Kyle's legs. Mind you, we're not the only ones staring. Clyde can't take his eyes off Kyle and Bebe, not just because of what's going on under that table, but also because he fancies Bebe rotten. Clyde and Kyle haven't spoken since he hooked up with Bebe. Poor Annie has to smack Clyde around the head to get his attention; he glares at her indignantly as he rubs the back of his head.

I guess I'm not the only one on a fake date tonight.

**Well, that's it for chapter 1, short and sweet! This was supposed to be a oneshot originally, but it just got longer and longer, so I've decided to multi-chapter it instead! Anyway, hope you're enjoying, and remember…**

**Reviews are good! Thank you! Chapter 2 up soon**


	2. Chapter 2

**Just An Average Night At Willie's**

**Aah, thank you for your lovely reviews; they make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside!**

**Chapter 2**

Just then, Whistlin' Willie arrives.

"Well now, what can I get y'all?" he asks, brandishing his notebook.

"I'll have what he's having," I mutter, as Kyle lets out a long, low moan.

"Say what, now?"

I order two cokes and a pepperoni pizza, and Willie bustles away. I turn back to Wendy and am about to ask her if she's okay with my order when there's a loud bang from the other side of the room. Everyone ducks except Damien, who stands proudly with his hand still pointing to a blackened patch on the wall, which used to be a speaker. An eerie silence descends as everybody recovers their nerves – even Kyle and Bebe pause in their sordid shenanigans. After a moment, Damien speaks, slowly and clearly.

"I fucking hate the Pussycat Dolls."

"Yeah, well I don't, and I was listening to that."

Everyone turns around to look at the speaker, who is a pretty girl with long wavy brown hair. She's wearing a denim miniskirt and a stripy top. She looks around, suddenly aware that everyone is looking at her. There are a few mutters and shaking of heads. Everyone – including me – is thinking the same thing: either this girl doesn't know who Damien is, or she's just incredibly stupid.

Damien rounds on her, his eyes literally blazing. "What did you say?" he asks threateningly.

"I-I said I like the Pussycat Dolls, and I was listening to that, b-before you blew it up," the girl replies, her voice shaking. She has the look of someone who knows they've made a big mistake.

There's general surprise in the room as she answers. I don't think any of us can quite believe it – someone who actually likes the Pussycat Dolls for their music.

"What is she doing?" Wendy hisses to me. "Stupid, stupid."

"Tell me about it."

"You don't think he'll actually…" she makes a little *poof* sound to finish her sentence.

"What, you mean blow her up? Nah, I don't think so. I don't think Damien's blown anyone up since he's been with Pip, cause Pip tends to get upset if you get body parts on his threads." Something occurs to me as I gaze at the brave-but-stupid girl again. "I think I dated her big sister."

Wendy smirks. "Is there anyone you haven't dated?"

"No, not really." I pause and pretend to think. "Although Scarlett Johansson won't return my calls."

Wendy giggles. I gotta hand it to Damien. He may be pure evil, but at least he's got me and Wendy talking.

Pip, who's been sitting with his head in his hands ever since the speaker went up in smoke, belatedly gets up and puts his hand on his boyfriend's arm.

"Please sit down, Damo. We've had a lovely evening so far, don't spoil it."

"You heard the way she spoke to me," Damien replies, his eyes still locked onto the girl's, who looks terrified.

"It doesn't matter," Pip says gently. He looks around at everyone, moves closer to Damien and says quietly: "Look, you're causing a scene."

Damien gives a half-smile that makes him look perverted. "I know."

Pip's face starts to go bright pink. He's at the end of his tether, or at least very close to it.

"Damien Lucifer Beelzebub!" he shouts in a shrill voice that startles everyone, including Damien. "You sit down right now or I'm going home!"

Damien looks at Pip, who's glaring at him, then the girl, who's physically shaking, and sits down, an angry look on his face. The girl, still shaking a little, sits down with her friends, looking like she knows she's had a lucky escape. Pip takes a deep breath, exhales slowly, and nods in satisfaction.

"Carry on everyone," he says to the room in general, then he too sits down.

The noise level in the room rises again as we all realise the excitement is over – for now anyway. I can see Damien clearly from here and he looks _pissed_. I don't think we've heard the last of this, somehow.

**I hope you're enjoying this, despite it being on the short side (like me).**

**Most of the main characters have got their own little stories, so they will be featured at some point, alongside the Kenny/Wendy main story.**

**Anyway, please review! Kenny likes reviews!**

**Chapter 3 up soon…**


	3. Chapter 3

**Just An Average Night At Willie's**

**Thank you for all your reviews, keep em coming!**

**I just realised I haven't done any disclaimers for this fic yet, so I'll do 3 now to make up for it: I don't own South Park. I don't own South Park. I don't own South Park. **

**Sorry for the long wait for an update, but here we go with the next chapter…**

**Chapter 3**

"Ow! No, don't do that! Bebe, people are looking!"

Wendy and I find our eyes being dragged over towards Kyle and Bebe, who's decided to pick up where she left off. I shake my head and smile. Even though he's known her for years, Kyle has no idea about Bebe. Telling her that people are looking only acts as a spur to her, not a deterrent. Bebe likes it when people are watching.

"I can't believe her, doing _that_ in public," Wendy says, glaring at them. Then she catches my eye and smiles. "Well, actually I can."

"So can I." I wink at her.

"Ewww!" She bats my arm playfully.

She laughs, and I can't help but laugh with her. She has such a cute laugh – why haven't I noticed that before? She smiles at me – a real, genuine I'm-actually-happy-to-be-here smile – and I find myself staring at her. I love the way her smile lights up her face, especially those amazing hazel eyes…fuck, did I really just think something as sappy as that? Jesus Christ, Kenny, snap out of it. And quit staring at her, before you really freak her out. Quit staring. I said: QUIT STARING. I obey my inner voice and look away quickly, looking for something to fiddle with (no, not that).

"Are you okay, Kenny?" Wendy asks.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine." I'm not. I can feel a blush creeping up my face, and I hate it. I'm not used to losing my cool, especially around girls. I brush invisible fluff off my jeans and quietly kick myself. I may have just blown any chance I had with Wendy Testaburger. I can't even bring myself to look at her – suddenly, I feel about 9 years old again. Please God, give me something, anything: Damien blowing that girl up, Kyle jizzing in Bebe's face, anything. Just get me out of this awkward moment.

"Here's your pizza!" God bless you, Whistlin' Willie.

He sets our drinks down, but continues to hold the pizza.

"If you want your pizza, you gotta whistle!" He whistles his gay little tune.

Wendy and I whistle along with him, both of us trying not to laugh. I chance a look at her and she grins at me. Phew. I haven't blown it, then.

Satisfied, Willie sets our pizza down and goes over to serve another booth of hormonal teenagers. I kinda feel sorry for the guy. He's pushing 80 and is as deaf as a post, and that's without the costume. He's long since given up caring what we do, so long as we pay up and get out at the end of the night.

I tuck into my pizza with a renewed appetite. This is the first decent meal I'll have had all day – as usual, there's hardly any food in at home, and I couldn't afford lunch at school.

Wendy rolls her eyes at a low moan from Kyle and drops her pizza, clearly put off.

"You and Bebe haven't made up, then," I ask her, my mouth full of pizza which isn't a sexy sight, even for me.

"No, and we're not going to, either," she says, her voice hard.

Wendy and Bebe have been feuding ever since Red hooked up with Stan, which was only about a week after Stan and Wendy split up. Naturally, Red and Wendy fell out, and Bebe was stuck in the middle, being pressurised by both sides. For some reason, Bebe took Red's side and she and Wendy haven't spoken since. Personally, if I was in Wendy's position, I'd have been more mad at Stan than Red, but maybe that'll come later for her.

I find myself looking over at Stan, and feeling more and more angry. What the hell was he thinking about, getting with one of his ex-girlfriend's best friends barely a week after they split up? And with Red of all people, who's not a patch on Wendy, in my eyes. Unless this is just a rebound fling, in which case Stan should come to his senses soon.

Stan and Red leave the pinball machine and go to an empty booth next to Kyle and Bebe. Red curls up on Stan's lap, wraps her arms around his neck and starts nuzzling him. Stan looks embarrassed, and it's got nothing to do with the noises coming from behind him. He tries to push her gently into the seat next to him, but she only wraps herself around him even tighter. Hmmm. Maybe I'm not the only one who suspects this is a rebound fling.

**Well, that's chapter 3 over, hope you're enjoying. As always, please read'n'review. Thank you!**

**Chapter 4 up soon…**


	4. Chapter 4

**Just An Average Night At Willie's**

**A great big thanks**** to everyone who's reviewed, especially JVM-150, who called me a dude, even though I'm a chick! I've been called many things, but never dude XD!**

**Also thanks to xNao for your lovely long review – what you said was really helpful, and I'm glad you're enjoying the fic!**

**Anyway, long author notes over, on with the story.**

**I don't own South Park.**

**Chapter 4**

Just when I thought Wendy and I were really starting to hit it off, and that our 'date' was actually starting to become a _date_; disaster strikes. Big, fucking Paris Hilton's acting career style disaster.

Up until this point, Wendy hasn't had to look at Stan and Red because they've been at the pinball machine, which is directly behind her. Now, though, they're sat in a booth almost opposite us, against the far wall. If I can keep Wendy's attention focused on me, then she won't see them, and there won't be tears before bedtime. I decide, in my wisdom, to tell her a joke that Cartman told me the other day, about two nuns, the Pope and a candelabra, which is all going fine, until Kyle ruins the whole thing by groaning loudly and drowning out the punchline.

Wendy looks at him and Bebe and glares at them, but then she spots Stan and Red, and the glare falls from her face. She gasps quietly and her gorgeous hazel eyes fill with tears. She manages to drag her gaze away from them and instead stares at the table, taking deep breaths and trying to compose herself. It's killing me to watch this – her heart is breaking right in front of me and there's nothing I can do about it. I can't watch any more, so I look over at Love's Young Dream. Red is still wrapped around Stan like a lovestruck boa constrictor, and he looks more uncomfortable than ever. Now she's trying to feed him pizza, which he's refusing to eat, possibly because he can't breathe. At least, I hope he can't breathe.

"You okay?" I ask Wendy, for what seems like the umpteenth time tonight.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm fine," she says, running her hands through her hair. Her eyes, though, betray her.

I gaze at Clyde and Annie for a moment, wondering how to phrase what I want to say next. Clyde and Annie's date is going about as well as ours, given that Clyde is paying no attention to Annie whatsoever. He's still staring at Bebe, and Annie's anger has clearly been mounting over the past few minutes. She tries to talk to him, but when he continues to ignore her, she grabs his left ear and twists his head round so fast; she almost gives the poor guy whiplash. He massages his neck and glares at her. Before things turn ugly, I turn back to Wendy. She's back staring at Stan and Red again.

"Wendy…" I begin, still unsure. She might not like what I'm going to say next. "Why are we here?"

"What?"

"Why are we here tonight?" This is something that's been bothering me ever since Wendy asked me out. If this is some kind of revenge against Stan, then I'd like to know about it.

"We're on a date." She's talking to me, but looking at Stan.

"You sure about that?"

"What?" This time, she does look at me.

"Oh, come on, Wendy." I'm tired of pussyfooting around. If she is using me, then I feel she should at least be honest with me. "I'm not stupid. I've got eyes, and a brain, even if it is in my pants. Don't patronise me, okay?"

She shifts uncomfortably in her seat.

"It's okay, Wendy, I don't mind," I say gently, "I just want you to be honest with me."

She sniffs loudly, and dabs her nose with a napkin. God, I love that. Most of the girls I've been with would've just wiped with their sleeve, but not Wendy. She's too sophisticated for that.

"You want honesty, Kenny," she says slowly. "All right then. I'll be honest." She puts her elbows on the table and clasps her hands. "Do you have any idea how it feels when the guy you loved all your life, who you thought was your soulmate, the guy you picked baby names with, suddenly decides hey, you know what, I don't love you any more and dumps you by text, then less than a week later starts going out with one of your best friends? Do you know, Kenny? Do you know how that feels?"

I shake my head. I can't believe Stan dumped Wendy by text. I've dumped some of my girlfriends in pretty despicable ways before, but even I'd never do it by text. It's like an unwritten rule of dumping.

Wendy puts a hand to her head. Now she is crying. "I'm sorry, Kenny," she manages between sobs.

"It's okay, Wendy." And you know what, it is. Any animosity I might have felt towards her is gone.

There's a yelp from the other side of the room. Craig Tucker, who's been harassing a group of girls all night in the hope of getting his end away, has clearly pushed them too far, because one of them has just thrown her drink over him. A waste of a drink, if you ask me. Craig has turned into such an asshole lately. He's hitting on every girl within a 5 mile radius in a desperate quest to lose his virginity, and so far, he's either been blown out or threatened with restraining orders. It's quite sad, really. He wipes his face, flips the now giggling girls off, and wanders off aimlessly, looking for somewhere to sit and lick his wounds. He is such a fucking tool.

"Hey, things could be worse," I say to Wendy, nodding towards the hapless Craig.

She manages a chuckle through her tears.

"I'm sorry, Kenny," she says again, quietly. "I wish I could switch my feelings off and move on like him, but I can't. I know I should hate him, but it's so hard…" she takes a deep gulp of air, and carries on: "You know, if he came up to me tomorrow and asked me to get back with him, I'd do it in a flash. That's how pathetic I am."

"You're not pathetic," I murmur. "You're one of the strongest people I know."

"Thank you." She looks at me and gives a little half smile, her eyes still shiny with tears.

Poor Wendy. She's usually very guarded with her emotions, so this must be real hard for her. I suddenly feel a big rush of sympathy for her. She needs some Kenny-love. I reach over the table and gently put my hands over hers, which is when I realise I've made my biggest mistake of the night so far. As soon as my hand touches hers, she jumps violently, as though it's a poisonous viper. She looks at me, horrified.

"Wendy, I – "

"I'm sorry, Kenny, I just…I can't…"

She dives out of our booth and runs towards the toilets, clattering into Craig Tucker, who's newly bought drink ends up down his T-shirt. He swears loudly and turns, glaring, until he sees who it is. Then he starts smiling like a shark that's just spotted a human buffet. Wendy, meanwhile, spins around and apologises profusely, then grabs some napkins off a nearby table and dabs at Craig's chest. Craig slips his arm around her waist and whispers to her, his lips almost on her ear. She giggles and gazes up at him, continuing to dab at his T-shirt almost absentmindedly.

I rise slowly and just stand there, staring at them, my mouth open. I can't believe this. She reacted as though I'd got the plague when I touched her, now she's letting Craig Tucker basically grope her in full view of everyone. Everyone. Including Stan. And suddenly it's all becoming horribly clear.

She's standing barely 3 feet away from Stan's booth, and she knows very well that Stan hates Craig almost as much as I do. I look over at Stan, who's finally managed to extricate himself from Red. He's watching Craig and Wendy with an expression that I know only too well, because it's plastered across my face, too. If it's possible to describe our expressions in words, it would go something like this:

Oh. Fuck. NO.

**Well, that's chapter 4 over, I hope you enjoyed it. As always, please R'nR! Thank you!**

**Chapter 5 up soon…**


	5. Chapter 5

**Just An Average Night At Willie's**

**As usual, apologies ****for the long wait for an update, and massive thanks to everyone who's read/reviewed/story alerted so far. Keep it up!**

**I don't own South Park, just this fic. **

**Chapter 5**

I can't believe what I'm seeing right now. Wendy and Craig. Craig and Wendy. Flirting right in front of me, and the whole room. Wendy's whispering in his ear now, and Craig's grinning like he's just won the fucking lottery.

And what am I doing about it? Standing here like a fucking pleb, just staring at them like everybody else. I should go over there right now, cave Craig's smug fucking face in and tell him to keep his hands off of Wendy. But I can't do that, can I? Technically, Wendy is not my girlfriend, and therefore, by the rules of dating (or, at least, as I know them, anyway) is free to flirt with whoever she likes, even if flirting with Craig Tucker should be made a federal offence.

Instead, I look hopefully at Stan, who looks about ready to blow. Maybe he'll solve the problem for me. Or not. Red starts tugging at Stan's arm and urging him to sit down, and, just when I think he's about to step out of his booth and give Craig what for, he sits down. Red throws her arms around his neck and whispers in his ear, but Stan ignores her and carries on staring menacingly at Wendy and Craig. Who's got unresolved issues, then, Stanny?

Mind you, so do I. I still don't know whether to go over there or just take my place at the Dateless Table for the rest of the night. God, I hate you, Craig Tucker.

It wasn't always like that, though. He used to be all right at elementary school. Okay, so he'd flip you off whenever you said hey to him, but at least he wasn't a complete asshole. I guess everything changed for Craig when he discovered contact sports. He was already in the football team at elementary school, but found his true calling when he tried out for South Park High's wrestling team. He was so good he soon became the star player, and was made captain last fall, which, coincidentally, was when the team went on a long winning streak, which Craig assumed was all down to him. As his head got bigger, so did his libido, but he was shocked to find that just because you're the captain of a school team, it doesn't automatically make girls want to put their heels in the air for you.

I find my eyes drawn back to Wendy again. Craig's starting to get very touchy feely now, and she looks a little uncomfortable. Her eyes start darting about, looking for an escape route, but instead they find me. She stares at me and just for a moment, there's something behind her eyes. Guilt, maybe? I'm not sure, because she looks away as quickly as she looked at me. While she's momentarily distracted though, Craig takes the opportunity to grab her ass.

Wendy, ever the feminist, squeals and slaps him, hard. While Craig reels, she turns and starts to walk away, but suddenly he reaches out, grabs her arm and pulls her back aggressively.

"Craig! Get off me!"

He squeezes her arm so hard she cries out.

"No way, bitch! You started this, so let's finish it!"

I don't know quite how it happens, but suddenly I'm racing towards them like a greyhound out of the traps. I've never moved so fast in my life, not even during the time I was chased by Death.

Just as I arrive, Stan jumps out of his booth with a face like thunder. Shit. Way to pick your moment, Stan.

"Leave her alone, Craig," I say, glancing at Stan. He's looking at me like I've just walked over and pissed on his trainers.

"Can anyone else smell that?" Craig sniffs the air. "Smells like rotting flesh." He turns towards me, still theatrically sniffing the air. "Oh, hey Dead-Boy. Didn't see you there." He grins like he's just said something very clever. Moron.

I roll my eyes. "Real original, Craig."

"Let her go, before you get hurt," Stan says, moving towards him.

I am not having this. Stan is not wading in here and becoming the hero, when he's the one who caused all this by letting his stop-gap girlfriend drape herself all over him like a drunk lapdancer. I step in front of him cautiously, because I've never challenged one of my best friends before.

"Dude, I got this."

We stare at each other for a moment, like two fighters weighing each other up, then Stan holds his hands up and takes a step back. I turn back to Craig, who's still got a tight grip on Wendy.

"Leave Wendy alone, Craig. She doesn't want to be with you."

"How do you know, Dead-Boy?"

"The slap round the face was the biggest clue."

He leans in towards me. "Why do you care what Wendy wants, anyway?" I just look at him and smile. He's had a thing about Wendy for ages, that's why him and Stan fell out. Boy, am I going to enjoy this. His eyes widen as his stupid jock brain finally makes the necessary connections. "You…and her?" He looks at Wendy and then back at me, then shakes his head. "How do you do it, man? Must be that fresh-out-of-the-morgue smell that drives 'em crazy."

My hit rate is the only thing I have over Craig, and he hates it. He's got a better body than me, he's (slightly) better looking than me, yet I've had more girlfriends in the past few months than he's had in his entire life. The one thing that's really guaranteed to make me angry is when people take the piss out of my Curse, and Craig knows this, which is why he calls me Dead-Boy and generally tries to wind me up at every opportunity. I guess it's the only real retaliation he's got against me, because normally I'm pretty laid back. It just really pisses me off when people make fun of my constant dying, because if they had any idea about the physical and emotional pain I go through every time I die, they wouldn't say half the things they do.

"Why don't you go fuck yourself, Craig. It's the only way you're ever going to get any action." I can feel anger beginning to bubble up inside me.

He looks pissed as well. He lets go of Wendy, who backs away, rubbing her arm, which now has some nasty red marks on it. He advances towards me. "Watch your mouth, Dead-Boy. You know I could pound you into oblivion in seconds."

Up until this point, everybody else has been carrying on their conversations, while keeping an eye on the situation in case it got interesting. Now that it has, the room has fallen deathly quiet.

"Whatever, Craig." I turn and start to walk away. Sorry everybody, but I am so not getting into this. Tonight's been bad enough already.

"Kenny, look out!" Wendy cries out behind me.

I turn back just in time to eat a knuckle sandwich, which sends me flying back into Stan and Red's booth. I lay on their table for a moment, dazed.

"You sure you still got this, Ken?" Stan asks me with a wry smile.

I shake my head and sit up. I see Craig grinning at me – that smug fucking grin that I hate so much. I can feel a massive wave of anger building up inside me, anger that I've never felt before, and you know what – it's exhilarating. I jump off the table and run towards him, my fists clenched. Blood's pouring out of my lip, but I don't care.

"Kick his ass, Kenny!" someone shouts.

As I fly towards him, there's only one thought in my mind, and it's not to kick his ass.

I want to kill Craig Tucker.

**Okay, so the ending to this chapter is a bit dark, but it will al****l be explained in the next one. Chapter 6 up soon…**


	6. Chapter 6

**Just An Average Night At Willie's**

**A great big thank you to all readers/reviewers…you know it by now.**

**I don't know why, but I've had the song "What Would Brian Boytano Do?" in my head all day…weird. Anyway, on with the story.**

**I don't own South Park, and all that jazz.**

**Chapter 6**

I have only one thought in my mind as I race towards Craig. I want to punch him, kick him, and inflict pain on any part of his body I can get hold of. I want to hurt him. Not just for Wendy, but for all the times he's ripped on me, and called me Dead-Boy. Its payback time, asshole.

Luckily for me, Craig's distracted. He clearly thinks he's won already, so the cocky bastard's completely unprepared when I barrel into him and slam him against the wall.

"Is that all you got?" he asks, grinning at me again. I'm breathing too heavily to answer; thrilled by the rush I'm getting outta this. There's spittle as well as blood coming out of my mouth now. God knows what I look like, but it probably ain't sexy.

Now that I've got Craig in this position, I don't actually know what to do next. I've never been in a fight before – I was put off violence a long time ago, when I accidentally threw a ninja star into Butters Stotch's eye. I can still remember the blood pouring down his face, and the immense pain he was in, and it haunts me, even though Butters has since forgiven me.

"C'mon little man," Craig says. He sounds bored. "Why don't you leave the fighting to the big boys?"

Anger is spreading like a fire inside me now, rushing through my veins and dulling all my other senses. It's intoxicating – I feel freer than I have done in a long time. I bet this is how Cartman feels all the time.

I slam Craig's head into the wall a couple of times, and it feels _good_. Now it's his turn to look dazed.

"How's that _little man_?"

Craig shakes his head, then glares at me.

"I'm gonna kill you, you little cunt," he hisses, right in my face. His breath smells like coffee.

He knees me in the stomach and I fall back, all the breath knocked out of me. I manage to stagger out of the way as Craig aims a punch at me. Fortunately, his momentum takes him past me, which gives me time to recover. I sock him in the jaw as he comes back at me.

By this time, everybody in the room is on their feet, some of them imaginatively chanting: "Fight, fight, fight!", but me and Craig are too hyped up to care. He comes at me again, but I'm too slow to dodge this time. He grabs me and twists my left arm round behind my back, trying to get me into an armlock. With one arm behind my back and the other flailing uselessly, I lift my left leg up and try to kick him in the side, which leaves me in a strange pirouette position…and is the exact moment my arm chooses to slide out of the armlock and make me fall, face first, onto the floor.

And let me tell you, Willie's got a hard fucking floor. As soon as my face connects with it, there's a loud snap and pain shoots up my nose and around my face. I'm seeing stars right now, and I think my eyes are swelling up. I groan, and get a mouthful of thick, coppery blood. Before I've even had a chance to register what's happening, someone grabs my shoulders, turns me around and pulls me up. Through my badly swollen eyes, I can just about make out Craig, and something tells me he's not about to help me. He looks angrier than ever.

"This is it, bitch," he says, and wraps his hands around my throat.

Jesus Christ, what'd I do to deserve this? I know I pissed him off, but, come on! I try to protest but Craig's got his hands wrapped so tightly around my neck it comes out as a gurgle. This is totally unlike Craig, but I have bigger problems to worry about right now. Like not getting strangled.

I try and hit him, but my attempts end up as weak slaps on his arms and shoulders. My vision is going blurry, and spots are dancing in front of my eyes. I can barely breathe.

"Let him go, you douche! He's going purple!" someone shouts.

Suddenly, all of its own accord, my right arm lifts itself and I thump him hard on the side of his head, which makes him slacken his grip slightly. Then my left arm does the same thing. WTF? How the hell did I just do that? I was weaker than a new born kitten a minute ago. I feel like I'm being remote controlled as my right hand lands another blow. It seems Craig's had enough, though: he simply bats my left hand out of the way as it aims for his head again and retightens his grip. Somehow, I'm still landing blows, but they're not having any effect now. Oh Jesus, I'm gonna pass out…

"DAMIEN! Leave them alone!"

Almost as soon as Pip has spoken, Craig grip slackens and my flailing arms flop to my sides. We stare at each other for a moment, dumbfounded, then he lets go of my neck completely and I drop to my hands and knees, gulping in air. Oh sweet, sweet oxygen. I try to stand up, but my legs give way. A couple of guys gently grab me under the shoulders and ease me into a booth. I feel a gentle pressure on the back of my head, as someone eases it down between my legs.

"Take slow, deep breaths."

"Wendy?"

"Don't talk. Just breathe."

I don't know how long I sit there, just breathing. Finally, as the dizziness begins to fade, I slowly lift my head up. Ouch. I wish I hadn't done that. I feel so goddamn lightheaded. I shut my eyes and wait for the feeling to go. When I open them again, Wendy is bending over me, smiling.

"Well, you sure know how to show a girl a good time," she says.

I start to reply, but get a mouthful of blood. I grab a handful of napkins and hold them over my nose.

Damien and Pip are shouting in each others' faces, and there's a whole lot of finger jabbing going on. Geez, and I thought my fight was bad.

"What the hell were you thinking? You could've killed them!" Pip shouts.

"The fight was boring; I was just trying to spice things up bit! It was only a bit of fun! You remember fun, don't you?"

"My kind of fun," Pip says, going red in the face, "is not making someone strangle someone else for my entertainment!"

"I made sure Kenny got a few shots in, didn't I?" Damien sits down, bored with the argument.

"That isn't the bloody point!" Pip shouts. I swear he's going to start tearing his hair out soon. "Watching two people try and kill each other is not what I would call an enjoyable evening!" He takes a couple of deep breaths. "I just want to do nice, normal things with you. Things that don't involve killing or maiming!"

"Cos its all about you, isn't it, _Philip_."

"What?"

"This relationship! It's all about you; it's only ever been about you, what you want! All you do is bitch, bitch, bitch!"

Pip's eyes fill with tears. "I just want some respect, Damien."

Damien looks at him and shakes his head. "What the hell did I ever see in you?"

Tears spill down Pip's face and he runs off into the toilets. Damien sits back in his chair and folds his arms, a concentrated look on his face.

"Well, that was fun," Wendy says. She stretches and looks at me. "I don't know about you, but I've had enough excitement for one day. Let's go home."

"Okay." Suddenly I'm too tired to argue. I root around in my pockets for the truck keys.

"I'll drive." Wendy takes the keys out of my hand.

"I can do it!"

"Seriously. I'll drive," she says, looking at my poor, battered face.

"All right." We head towards the door. My legs don't feel so much like jelly any more, and I don't feel like I'm about to collapse at any given second. We're almost at the door when there's a shout behind us.

"Wendy! Wait!"

Stan comes running up to us. "Can I talk to you?"

"Can it wait? I need to get Kenny home." Oh great, now I'm some fucking invalid she needs to get home. Sadly, I don't think she means her place.

"No, it can't." He looks at me. "Dude, can you give us a minute?"

I look at them both. "Sure. Why not?"

I walk away a little distance and flop down in a booth. So if Stan's over here, where's…oh, there she is. Red's still sitting in her booth, with her head in her hands, and her shoulders are shaking. Something tells me she ain't laughing. Well done, Stanny, two broken hearts in one week. Nice going.

Whoa, hang on a second. If he's just finished with Red, that means…

Shit. Stan's trying to get back with Wendy.

**Stay with me people, only one more chapter to go now. Will Kenny get the girl? Who knows? Who cares? Find out soon…**


	7. Chapter 7

**Just An Average Night At Willie's**

**This is it, the last chapter! For all those sadistic readers who've been enjoying Craig's humiliation so far (and I know you're out there) there's more to come! And the Dateless Table are in this chapter as well.**

**Thanks to all reviewers, BTW!**

**I don't own SP.**

**Chapter 7**

OK, let's do a brief recap of my night so far, shall we? My date's a disaster, I've had to watch my ex-girlfriend living up to her nickname of 'The Vacuum', I've got a broken nose, nearly been strangled, been mind controlled by the Anti-Christ and now Wendy, a girl who I actually like and want to be with, is trying to patch things up with Stan. Wow, that's a pretty crappy night, even for me.

There's a mirrored wall right opposite me (Willie's attempt to be modern), and I can see my reflection quite clearly. All I gotta say is OUCH. The swelling around my eyes has gone down, but my poor nose is all crooked and bent out of place, and I've got blood all over my new (secondhand) blue hoodie top. Still, I can't help but smile. With my blond hair, broken nose and black eyes, I look like Owen Wilson in _The Darjeeling Limited_. I'd laugh if I didn't have a pounding headache.

What are Stan and Wendy up to? Ugh, still talking. I don't know what they're talking about because I can't hear them and Stan's got his back to me, so I can't see anything either. They're probably telling each other how stupid they were to break up, and how they can't stand to be apart from each other ever again, or something gay like that. I put my head down on the cool Formica table, trying to ease the pain in my head. I just want this night to be over. At least my nose has stopped bleeding now. That's one thing to be thankful for, I guess.

Suddenly, there's shouting from the back of the room. The Dateless Table, to be exact. They're having an argument about something – it seems to be Craig (yep, he's there), Token and Butters on one side, and Jimmy and Timmy on the other, with Tweek in the middle, being pressurised by both sides. Poor Tweek, he looks as though his head's about to explode.

"Gah! I don't know! Stop shouting at me!" he shrieks, before downing more coffee.

They quieten down after that, and I rest my head on the table again. I really, desperately want to go home. I want to go to bed, pull the duvet over my head and stay there for about a week. My mattress may be even harder than Kyle is, but suddenly it seems really inviting right now. Speaking of Kyle, there's a loud "Oh, YEAH" from his booth. Dirty boy.

Kyle's resting his head against the back of the booth, his eyes are shut and he's breathing faster than any human being I've ever seen. Just when I think he can't take any more he shouts: "OH JESUS!" and slumps forward onto the table, breathing deeply. About a minute after that, Bebe emerges from under the table and sits back in the booth, giggling. Kyle lifts his head up from the table, and I have to stifle a laugh. His face is almost as red as his hair, and his expression is that of someone who's not quite sure what's just happened. He sits there panting and staring at Bebe, utterly speechless.

"You have the rest, honey, I'm full," Bebe says, pushing the remainder of their pizza towards him. She giggles again. Oh Bebe, your parents must be so proud of you.

Clyde, who's been watching this the whole time, gets up and storms off into the toilets, without a word to poor Annie. Ah, unrequited love. Suddenly I know all about that.

A plate smashes at the back of the room. Seems its all going off on the Dateless Table at the moment. And guess who's behind it all? Yep, that's right. Take a bow, Craig Tucker. He's standing over Timmy, shouting and jabbing his finger into his face. Mind you, Timmy's giving as good as he's getting, shouting right back at him. I don't know how anyone could have an argument with Timmy, because all he can say is his own name, but somehow Craig's managing it. Asshole.

"Oh come on, Timmy, are you serious? The new Star Trek movie is way better than Wrath Of Khan!"

"Timmy!"

"Admit it! Wrath Of Khan sucks next to the new one!"

"TIMMY!"

Craig may be captain of the wrestling team, and, in his own eyes, God's gift to women, but there's still a nerd inside him kicking and screaming to get out.

"C-Calm down, fellas. It's really not imp-p-portant." Jimmy gets up and stands next to Timmy.

"Stay outta this. This is between me and him." Craig's getting really aggressive now; he's right in Timmy's face. This is getting really uncomfortable to watch, and there's general unease in the room now. There's a general feeling among all of us that you never pick on disabled people – unless your name is Eric Cartman.

"Please, step b-back, Craig. You're upsetting him."

Craig snorts with laughter. "What are you gonna do about it?"

There's silence as everybody leans forward in anticipation. Jimmy does nothing – he just stares at Craig, who shakes his head and grins…then has a sharp intake of breath as one of Jimmy's callipers connects firmly with his nuts. Craig crumples to the floor with his hands over his groin and groans loudly. I think every guy in the room, including me, has got their legs crossed now.

There's a lot of laughter and cheering as Craig writhes in pain, none more so than the girls he'd been annoying when me and Wendy arrived.

"Wow, what a fantastic audience," Jimmy says, grinning widely.

The five girls jump out of their booth and approach the Dateless Table. Tweek squeals when one of them smiles at him.

"Do you guys wanna go somewhere?" one of them, a tall girl with long dark hair, says.

"W-with you?" Butters asks nervously. Poor, sweet, naïve Butters.

"Yeah." The girls all giggle in unison, in that freaky way that girls do.

"Sure, we'd love too," Token answers for the group. "C'mon guys."

The boys get up, a protesting Tweek having to be hauled up by Token, and head for the door, Timmy making sure to run over Craig's foot as he moves away from the table. Cheers echo around the room as the once dateless group leave, although Tweek can clearly be heard above everything shouting:

"No! I can't go! I'll have to talk to them! That is way too much pressure!"

Finally, after a bit of shoving, Butters and Token manage to get Tweek out the door. I love a bit of natural justice, and the Dateless Table getting dates is definitely natural justice. Craig never even apologised for nearly strangling me (OK, I know it wasn't all him, but let me have this one) so he'll get no sympathy from me.

Now that they're gone, Willie's has quietened down again. I look over towards Wendy and Stan, to see what the score is, and…they're hugging. Brilliant. Definitely my cue to leave.

I exit Willie's, purposely turning my head away as I go past them. When I get outside, I take a couple of deep breaths and try to swallow the big lump in my throat that's suddenly formed. What the hell is wrong with me anyway? I should be saying: "Fuck Wendy," after what's happened to me tonight, but I just can't. I should dump her on her ass the next time she decides to use me to get at Stan, but I know I won't. Stupid fucking moron.

I fumble around in my pockets, looking for the pickup keys, and then I remember: _she's_ got them. Fuck, fuck, FUCK.

I sigh and head back into Willie's, half expecting to see to see Stan and Wendy snogging each others' faces off. But…no. Stan is sitting over with Kyle and Bebe, and actually looking quite upset. Wendy is still standing near the door, tears streaming down her face.

"I finished it," she says slowly, looking at the floor, "for good."

This throws me completely. "But I thought you were – "

"Getting back with him?" She shakes her head. "No. We seem to spend half our time breaking up, and the other half making up." Sounds like a good deal to me. "I can't do it any more." She looks over at him, and fresh tears begin falling. "Come on. Lets…lets go."

Just as we walk out the door, Craig leaves too, pain etched across his face. As he shuffles out the door, Annie pushes past him, shoving him into the door frame. She storms off down the street, a look of thunder on her face. I wouldn't wanna be Clyde on Monday morning. That's gonna be hella fun when he sees her at school. Meanwhile, Craig shuffles towards his car, one hand on his shoulder, and one over his groin. I would definitely laugh if Wendy wasn't so upset. I gently take the pickup keys out of her hand.

"I'll drive," I say, with a wry smile.

"It's OK," she says, wiping her eyes. "I'd rather walk home. Try and clear my head, you know?"

"OK, if you're sure." I start to turn away, then turn back. I can't leave it like this. "It'll get better, you know. And when it does, maybe, we could…" Oh, Jesus, what am I doing? "y'know, do this again, sometime?"

Wendy looks at me, shocked. "You'd go out with me again, after tonight?"

I shrug. "Meh. Can't be any worse, right?"

She giggles. "I guess not." She smiles at me, and I can feel myself smiling right back. There's a strange warmth right in the pit of my stomach, which is either indigestion or…oh, the hell with it. I think I love you, Wendy Testaburger. "You know what? I think I'd like that." She leans in and kisses me gently on the cheek. "Goodnight, Kenny." She turns and walks off down the street.

I try to call "Goodnight" after her, but the word gets stuck in my throat. All that comes out is: "Yeah."

I throw the keys up in the air and catch them joyfully. I get the urge to dance across the street, and am about to, when Clyde walks past me. I grin stupidly at him.

"Hey Clyde."

He glares at me, as if to say: what the hell are you so happy about, and pulls his car keys out of his pocket. He cries out in shock.

"What the fuck have you done to my car?"

I wander over to the middle of the road to join him. That fender bender that I had when trying to park the truck was a whole lot worse than I thought. My pickup has basically arse-raped Clyde's Buick – and it's not even like I can pretend the thing ain't mine.

"Listen, Clyde, I'm real sorry about – "

"LOOK OUT!"

I turn just in time to see a truck, clearly out of control, heading right for me and Clyde. He jumps to safety, but I don't have any time. Shit. I just crouch and brace myself for the impact. Next thing I know, I'm flying through the air, my body almost numb. As long as I land somewhere soft I should be…

But when does that ever happen for me, huh? Instead of somewhere soft, I land on top of an unused flagpole, which automatically pierces me straight through my abdomen. I slide down to half-mast, leaving a couple of my vital organs at the top. But you know what? I don't care. My dying brain is full of Wendy, and I feel incredibly happy, despite the pain. Just before I shuffle off this mortal coil – for a while, anyway – I hear Clyde cry out below me:

"Oh Jesus no! Now who's going to move that goddamn truck?"

Ah, yeah. Just another average night at Willie's.

**Well, that's it! I hope you enjoyed, and please review. Thank you!**


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